


Just a Myth

by texastoasted



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Mothman, demo is the founding member of the cryptid conservation society now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 05:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17115200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/texastoasted/pseuds/texastoasted
Summary: The mercenaries find themselves on a plane to Point Pleasant, West Virginia, after Saxton Hale gets a little bit too bored.A TF2 Secret Santa 2018 gift!





	Just a Myth

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays to @teufortsquidman on tumblr!

There were the usual things in the supply truck: wooden crates full of foodstuffs, sealed cartons of ammunition and some parts Engineer had ordered for the medigun, and more butcher paper for Scout’s sketches. But they rarely got any mail, and it was with some distrust that Heavy regarded the large envelope, crinkled around all the edges but left pristine in the middle, like it had been punched. When he flipped it over, there was no return address, just a scribbled mercenaries.

“Is mail,” he said to no one in particular, listening with half an ear to hear if any of his teammates were expecting something. There was a chorus of not mine’s, and so Heavy worked his finger under the lip of the envelope, tore the thick paper and retrieved the letter inside. Busy with unpacking the truck, the other mercenaries did not notice the way Heavy went silent, put down his reading glasses and raised one massive hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Their largest teammate brought it up again at dinner, fishing the offending letter out from somewhere in his shirt and waving it above their heads.

“Read this,” Heavy simply said, “and tell me I am not seeing things.”

Scout was the first one that snatched it, arm cracking out like a whip to be the first to read it. There was an interested silence as his teammates watched his eyes scan the paper painstakingly slowly, eyebrows slowly raising further and further near his hairline. When he reached the end, a breathless wheeze escaped his chest, earsplitting hooting and hollering making them all cover their ears.

“Calm down, boy,” Engineer told him indignantly, “and let me see that.”

The letter made its way around the table, leaving its reader in various states of disbelief or hysterics. “I’ve got too much of a headache to read that,” Demo groaned, “what does it say?”

“We’re supposed to fly out to Point Pleasant, West Virginia tomorrow.” Medic answered slowly, adjusting his spectacles. “To capture the Mothman. So Saxton Hale can fight him.”

“I don’t get paid enough for this crap! And...and Mothman ain’t even real!” Scout exclaimed.

“Except you do get paid enough for this, Scout. Right, Herr Engineer? I believe it says in our contracts we must do whatever our employer asks.”

“If he’s not real, it’s a vacation, aye?”

No one could argue with that, and so it was with mixed reactions the mercenaries prepared to leave New Mexico.

 

The cargo plane that took them to West Virginia was so well-stocked with traps and supplies it was as if they were prepared for the apocalypse. It wasn’t that far-fetched of a thought to think that Saxton Hale had a cargo plane ready to go for any situation, or at all farther to believe he had others like this one for other supposedly mythical creatures they would eventually be asked to capture. They had brought their normal weapons, unsure exactly what would work and what wouldn’t, unsure if what they were going to capture was even real. Scout had already decked himself out in camouflage and spent several minutes making sure the horizontal stripes he painted on his cheeks were straight enough, and helping Soldier cover his whole face in varying shades of green and black.

“I’m just saying, from an ethical standpoint,” Engineer began, leaning back in his seat, “If the Mothman is real, are we really supposed to hand it over? Think of the studies that could be done.”

“I agree with you, Herr Engineer.” Medic mused, rubbing his upper lip with one gloved finger. “I would quite enjoy dissecting the creature.”

“We gotta see if it’s real first. I sure hope so, him sending us all the way out here.”

“Mmph,” Pyro went, and Engineer looked out the window. “We’re close, team. Remember the plan-Scout and Spy will go on ahead to place my cameras in the forest, Demo and Soldier will set the traps, Pyro and Sniper will light the torches, and Heavy, Doc and I will set up camp and unpack the plane.”

“Sounds good, Truckie.” Sniper replied, reaching over Demo’s head to retrieve his bow from the cargo rack, slinging a well-worn leather quiver over his shoulder. 

The forest sounded like a caricature of itself. Insects were ear splittingly loud, bats beating their wings somewhere far above their heads. Spy would have been happy to cloak and do the cameras by himself, but Scout kept cursing loudly whenever he either disappeared or strayed too far, despite swearing that he wasn’t afraid. Rolling his eyes inwardly, Spy made an effort to tune out the monologue that had started up despite his proximity. 

“I didn’t realize it got so fucking dark out here, man. It doesn’t get this dark in the city, you know? Sometimes, out in the desert, when I’ve rode out with Sniper. But this is dark. And loud, too. You wouldn’t think owls would be so fucking loud. What do you think the Mothman eats?”

“Us, if you don’t shut up.” Spy replied nonchalantly.

Scout was silent only for a few minutes. “Do you think it eats people? Whatever, man. I’ll give him the old one-two if he tries to get near. No need to worry, Spy.”

“Merci, Scout.”

Scout scuffed his shoe through the dirt as Spy affixed a camera to a broad tree, glancing back and forth like they were on the run. “Do you think the locals hunt for him? What if they accidentally shoot us instead?”

“The locals have long given up, if what Hale’s letter said was accurate. I-”

There was a sudden squeaking noise, like a hinge that needed to be oiled right next to their ears, and both of the mercenaries jumped at the noise of fluttering wings, impossibly big. Something soft and strong hit Spy across the back of the head, and he was knocked into the just-placed camera, opening a nasty gash across his nose. Scout let out a scream, and Spy scrambled in the dirt and dead leaves of the forest floor to turn himself around, instinctively drawing his revolver and firing a single shot. The thing that had been practically on top of Scout, covering him in a dusty gray tent of soft fur, let out a squeal and launched itself back into the night. Spy skidded through fallen branches over to the other mercenary, dropping to his knees in the dirt. “Scout!” he shouted, shaking the boy’s shoulders vigorously. There were several scratches on his face and forearms, and he stared wide-eyed and wordless at Spy for a moment.

“It almost got me,” he said weakly.

Spy hauled him upright. “You’re fine,” he told his teammate, briskly dusting him off. “We should go back to camp and alert our fellow unlucky compatriots this thing is actually real.”

“You shot it, didn’t you?”

“Oui.”

“You coulda killed it! We’re supposed to capture it!”

“I apologize for trying to save your life!”

Scout was silent for a few minutes, but then a pleased smile swelled into the apples of his cheeks, beaming under the weeping scratches. “Aw, Spy. You do care.”

“Be quiet.” Spy snapped back, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 

When Spy and Scout returned to camp, Pyro and Sniper were already there, roasting marshmallows and sausage links over a campfire. “What happened to you two?” Sniper asked indignantly, getting to his feet.

“I’m glad to see that you are relaxing, bushman. It attacked us.”

Medic, ears always perked for an accident, emerged from one of the tents. He eagerly snapped a rubber glove against his forearm. “Well, come on, then! Sniper and Pyro were not so lucky.”

“You saw it too?” Scout asked, a little disappointed. 

“Not exactly. Heard it, squeaking above the treetops. I wanted to shoot a few arrows at it, but was a tad afraid of setting the forest on fire.”

Pyro threw their arms into the air, gesturing with the marshmallows stuck on a whittled branch. “Mmph!”

“Pyro said it was big,” Engineer added from somewhere behind a generator.

“It’s big, all right. Where are Soldier and Demo? Still out there?”

“Should be back any moment.”

Perfectly announced, there was a cacophonous crashing in the undergrowth before the two missing mercenaries burst through a few bushes into the campsite, looking notably unexcited. Scout looked slightly cheered up. Engineer finished setting up the monitors so they could observe the camera feed while having dinner, soup that Heavy produced.

“Makes me think,” Sniper started, leaning forward, “why you fellows were attacked. I thought we were goners a couple times, for sure.”

“Maybe it’s because it thought it could carry Scout off.” Demo joked. “Didn’t the letter say it was taking farmers’ dogs?”

“You could be on to something, Herr Demo.” Medic said eagerly. “Yes, from the sky Scout could have looked like a small, weak dog.”

“Hey!” Scout objected indignantly. 

“And we know it’s attracted to the lights Pyro and Sniper set up. Oh, there is something on the tip of my tongue.”

“Use little Scout and lights as bait for one of the traps.” Heavy answered simply.

“Ja, Heavy, that was it. Wait, no, that was better than what I was thinking.”

“Guys, come on!”

“I regret to say this, but I side with Scout on this one.” Spy said, eyeing a chunk of potato in his soup. “I already dirtied my suit saving his life once, and am not very eager to do it again.”

“We won’t let it get you, son.” Soldier assured him. “Just close enough.”

 

The plan proceeded to go off without a hitch, save for a lot of screaming and squeaking and scratches that looked like a horde of angry cats had been released upon them. But when it was all said and done, the Mothman was impossibly soft, female, and heavily pregnant. None of them felt it was right to turn something surely the last of its species over to their employer, and with whatever twisted morals they had left, packed up the plane and went home.

 

“So?” Saxton Hale asked, a steak sizzling away on his desk.

“We searched far and wide, Mr. Hale, ain’t no Mothman in those woods.” Engineer told him, holding his hard hat to his chest.

Hale drummed his fingers on his leg, giving each of them a long once-over. “Disappointing.” he said, mostly to himself. “All right. Good effort, men. Dismissed.”

An audible sigh of relief went through the group, and they turned to file out the door one by one.

“Wait!” Hale barked. “DeGroot!”

“Yes, Mr. Hale?”

“How’s hunting the Loch Ness monster going these days?” he asked, raising one bushy eyebrow in interest.

“I can assure you it’s just a myth, Mr. Hale.” Demo answered with a solemn expression, and walked with a particularly fast gait out the door past the rest of them.


End file.
